My mom grew shamrocks in a pot in the house for as long as I can remember my childhood. The real name was oxalis, but the leaves were huge, 3-leaved clovers. Wherever we lived, those shamrocks followed and were lush all the time.
When she went into the hospital the last time, the plant didn't get watered for a while. It looked pretty dead, so Grandma Nichols threw it out. Somehow, that seemed to sever the last connection I had with Mom. Now I know that with a little watering, it probably would have come back. Grandma was just trying to be helpful; I'm afraid sometimes when I'm trying to be helpful, I kill the shamrocks, too!
At any rate, I can still see that wonderful pot full of shamrocks in my mind's eye. That's my thought for the morning. Now if I can only remember to wear green today...
another characteristic I share with Grandma N. is forgetting...